


15 Minutes to Places

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-20
Updated: 2003-08-20
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: The coffee burns his tongue, hot and bitter, and Elijah swishes it around in his mouth to ease the worst of the sting. The taste hasn’t gotten any better, and he would have given up catering coffee long ago if he actually trusted himself to make it through the day without it. He probably could, but why break with tradition? After all, actors are notoriously superstitious and routine-driven, and this is his 150-somethingth cup of early morning catering coffee. It’s just not worth the risk.





	15 Minutes to Places

**Author's Note:**

> For [](https://mcee.livejournal.com/profile)[mcee](https://mcee.livejournal.com/)’s gen-fic challenge. Quotations paraphrased from _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_ by T.S. Eliot. Thanks to Cyndi for editing.

The coffee burns his tongue, hot and bitter, and Elijah swishes it around in his mouth to ease the worst of the sting. The taste hasn’t gotten any better, and he would have given up catering coffee long ago if he actually trusted himself to make it through the day without it. He probably could, but why break with tradition? After all, actors are notoriously superstitious and routine-driven, and this is his 150-somethingth cup of early morning catering coffee. It’s just not worth the risk.

He sips again, watching the pastel shades of the sunrise. He has them memorized by now, knows each shade and nuance of colour, the precise moment in the morning that the birds begin to sing right before the dawn. He actually misses it, sometimes, when they have a later call and aren’t out here to watch the mist lift from the treetops like a veil. But he would never tell anyone that.

His eyes drift over to where Orlando is sitting cross-legged against the trailer – Indian style, his mom would have said, but you can’t say that anymore, so Elijah never does – his eyes closed, hands resting open on his knees, palms loosely cupping the fabric of his leggings. It’s almost eerie to see Orlando this still, his rambunctious energy put on hold for a few precious minutes of grounding and peace. ‘Channeling Legolas,’ he calls it, and Elijah smiles at the thought, at the breeze teasing the pink bandanna holding back Orlando’s wig.

He catches sight of Dom and Billy out of the corner of his eye, and his smile deepens, curves around the white Styrofoam rim of his cup. Billy is riding piggy-back on Dom, one arm draped over Dom’s shoulder while the other gestures wildly. They are far enough away that he can’t make out what they are yelling, can only hear the sounds of their voices raised in excitement. When they reach the pre-designated boom, Billy drops gracefully to the ground and they turn to charge back up the hill, fists waving in the air and yelling at the top of their lungs. Elijah has no idea what any of this means, but they do it every morning. Supposedly it helps them to get into character, to find their dynamic.

They charge past Viggo, who knows their routine as well as anyone by now and has chosen a tree out of harm’s way for his morning sword drills. Anduril catches the light as Viggo methodically swings, casting off into the air inches from the trunk. Cut to one, two, three, four, thrust to six. And repeat.  
Sean Bean is nearby going through a similar warm-up, some combination of yoga and martial arts. Orlando has ribbed him about it, tssk-ing over mixed disciplines, but Sean just grins and says “Whatever works.”

John appears from the on-site costume trailer right on schedule, shrugging a little in his chain mail so that it falls evenly over his torso. Quietly, he begins making his rounds among the crew, greeting everyone personally, offering smiles and occasionally that great booming laugh that can be heard all the way across the clearing. Elijah shakes his head and dips back into his coffee cup, inhaling deeply and allowing the liquid to just touch his lips.

A hand pressing down on his shoulder makes him open his eyes and lower the cup, which squeaks a little as it reshapes itself in his hand. Ian smiles down at him, looking very much the wizened wizard with laughter-lines crinkling his whole face, deepening the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The sun isn’t quite far enough into the sky to eliminate the shadows that hide in those lines, making them stand out against Ian’s pale skin. Elijah smiles in return without even thinking about it, breaking out of surveillance mode.

“To good fortune,” Ian says gravely, but with the smile still carving shadows in his face around the prosthetics, and the heavy hand on Elijah’s shoulder squeezes slightly, a reminder of friendship and affection.

“To good fortune,” Elijah echoes, and Ian winks before moving on to greet the next member of the Fellowship.

Before Elijah can lose himself in contemplation again, warm arms wrap themselves loosely over his, halting the coffee cup’s progress towards his mouth.

“Mornin’, Mister Frodo,” a familiar voice says cheerfully, and Elijah grins again, tilting his head back and squinting into the sunlight to see Sean’s face.

“Good morning, Sam,” he returns, and Sean swings his legs over the bench to take his customary seat beside Elijah, Styrofoam cup still steaming, little curls of heat drifting into the New Zealand dawn.

They sit in silence long enough for the coffee to cool, Elijah sipping and blowing ripples across the dark surface while Sean simply holds the cup in his hands, rolling it lightly to keep his fingers from burning. Sean finally decides that the coffee is the right temperature, or perhaps simply gets tired of waiting, and takes a gulp.

“Christ. It never gets any better, does it?” His lips curl back in a comic grimace of distaste, tongue licking the last traces of liquid from his bottom lip.

Elijah laughs, the sound ringing out through the stillness of the air, because Sean’s words are so clearly an echo of his own thoughts that he wonders if they are beginning to read each other’s minds, or if they have just been here so many times that this, too, is becoming a part of the routine.

“No, it doesn’t.” Elijah takes another sip, chews briefly on the edge of his cup. Across the clearing, Orlando stretches, emerging from his meditation. Elijah can practically see the energy rush back into him, charged and vibrant. Orlando soaks up the sunlight, catches the colours in his smile as he goes to join Viggo, and is nearly bowled over by Merry and Pippin, who look breathless but awake and cheerful. Elijah can hear their combined laughter from his place on the bench, sees Sean Bean look up and amble over to the cluster.

“Almost time,” Sean comments, and Elijah nods, his nose dipping back down into the bitter-smelling haven of his cup. The sun has fully risen now, the shadows of the trees inching back across the slow-warming ground.

“Do you think we’ll miss this?” Elijah asks, lifting his head but not looking at Sean yet, still taking in the sight of the landscape, and the people, and the glow of the ascending sun.

“What? Measuring out our lives with catering coffee and hobbit feet?” Sean is joking without mocking, smiling at Elijah with easy humor.

“Maybe.” The coffee is cooling rapidly now; Elijah takes another drink and tries to ignore the taste. “I meant more the friendship, you know? The mornings of doing what we do, together. Getting up even before the sun to come out here and become these other people.”

“Elijah…” And Sean’s voice is serious enough for Elijah to turn, to meet his eyes. Sean’s face is fully in the light, softening his mouth and eyes, rounding out his cheeks. “We’ll always have the friendship.”

Elijah considers him for a moment, considers them and how very surreal this morning on set would seem to anyone who wasn’t a part of it. Shouts reach his ears; the other hobbits calling them into the fold for the start of the day’s shooting.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He drains the last of his coffee, crumples the cup in spite of its squeal of protest before tossing it into the rusted metal trash-barrel. Sean’s hand clasps his to pull him up from the bench, warm and strong, and Elijah answers the squeeze with one of his own.

“Let us go then, you and I,” Sean sing-songs, and the smile creeps back onto Elijah’s face. This is how he gets into character, sitting with Sean and drinking coffee, watching the sun rise. He’s willing to bet that Frodo and Sam did the same thing.

Elijah doesn’t measure out his life with coffee spoons. He measures it in love.


End file.
